Molly Smiles
by xXBeckyFoo
Summary: Then again, out of nowhere, at some point when he probably forgot that he wasn't allowed anything beautiful or pure,Audrey brings to the world a little girl. And then that's when he feels there's a cure for anything. ONESHOT.


**Molly Smiles.**

_Oneshot._

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><p>He never thought he'd ever get the chance to know what happiness was, what love was.<p>

He never really thought he deserved it, after all, he was a foul man and everyone knew that. Everybody knew, from the very beginning they knew he was made up of wrong emotions.

So he sits around with them, with all these people—his family—and he tries to smile at them, he tries to talk in return with them, to join their conversations, to be a part of them, but he just can't do it. Because he knows deep down that he doesn't deserve it, that he doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve love in general; not from anyone.

He thinks this always, every single day. Even when Audrey comes into his life with those big brown eyes of hers, with her cinnamon-scented brown waves, and her truly beautiful soul. He distances himself time and time again, ignoring her passes, her little smiles, and even Ron's direct comments that she was flirting with him—because he doesn't deserve it, he still reminds himself. Especially not someone like Audrey.

But then somehow, someway, somewhere, she captivates him completely, making him drop his act, and he irrevocably gets sucked into the brilliancy that the woman is. Even if in the back of his head he knows he will forever put up a barrier around him; not really letting her in.

Then again, out of nowhere, at some point when he was probably forgetting that he wasn't allowed love, not allowed anything beautiful or pure, Audrey brings to the world a tiny bundle of life; a little girl. _His_.

And then there's this tiny moment, a slight second when he is looking at her, all pink and fragile looking, that he feels there's nothing that can't be cured.

There was hope.

_Daddy's little girl paints the world with her magic wand_

_Daddy's little child breathes new life to the morning time for me_

_Though we're apart, her thoughts follow me_

_When I come home, Molly smiles with the dawn_

He was a perfectionist of course, that was nothing new; especially the fact that he was easily irritated and annoyed beyond limit with peoples stupidly daft remarks, their lousy work effort, and their general incompetence. And not to mention the fact that he had to do everything again, always, without a doubt having to show them how it was done, and how a true and dedicated Ministry Official works and does things correctly.

It's who he was, how people knew him. Grumpy, anal, and hard working. And he just had no time, never any time, and all this pressure was always on his shoulders, and all these worries about his work on his mind—but all of that always changed when he left the Ministry and fresh air hit his face.

She was magic, he realizes as soon as he walks into his home—irritation and exhaustion pushing him down to the ground as all he wants to do is stay away from everyone, just to head to bed and lay there until the sun rises in a few hours and he has to do it all over again—and it fades away.

Because there was this way that everything else was left behind, that he remembered why he did everything, why the cold wind of the night gave him a chill of hope, a sense that reminded him there was a reason, and a particularly strong reason for him to feel that flicker of joy when everything else was a drag. And that was because of her, because of his little girl.

She's all bright smiles and twinkling blue eyes as soon as she spots him, rushing towards him as carefully as her still-wobbling legs let her. She grips onto his kneecaps, trying to squeeze him with what she thinks is strength in her chubby arms, and all he hears is, "daddy, daddy!" and it's music to his ears and the rest is forgotten.

Always forgotten.

_Molly smiles, and she radiates the glow around her halo_

The Healer doesn't know how it happens or where it came from, and definitely how to get rid of it, but a little part him knows where and why. So when the man in those colored-robes gives him an estimated guess until it spreads and things go further, he gets up from the chair and shakes the man's hand, not wanting to hear anything else as he exits out.

Only thinking of the people he was going to leave behind.

_When she plays, Molly smiles_

He is sitting on that old table, in that table he remembers spending so much time in, either studying or eating, but either way it was a memory that should've been filled with warmth but wasn't.

"Thanks for watching her," he tells his mother gently, solemnly; in the manner in which he speaks with. "I had an appointment that really couldn't be missed."

His mother smiles hugely at her son, stopping beside him and fixing a few strands of his red hair behind; knowing perfectly well how groomed and presentable he always liked to look. "Oh, it's not a problem, Percy dear. She's such a joy, I love having her here."

Percy gives a stiff nod, leaning a little out of his seat, taking the chance as his mother began to rant about a plate of food she was going to fix him up, to look at the little redheaded girl running around the living room of the Burrow with Teddy Lupin; her squeals of laughter practically shaking his childhood home.

Something pulls on his heartstrings as he looks away because he knows that girl was something he never was.

_On a summer day, Molly smiles_

It's a few months later and things aren't getting better with him.

And at first, no one notices because the seriousness in his face is something they are all used to, so accustomed to it that no one ever asks. But then, there's someone who doesn't need to ask because they already know, they can see it withering away in his blue eyes.

"Are you ever going to fess up?" George appears next to him, sitting on the garden chair next to him as he places little two year-old Fred on his lap. "Or are you going to have me snoop around? You know, go through your stuff like I always did before."

Percy says nothing. He instead crosses his arms, looks away from his brother, and turns his gaze towards a group a few yards away.

"Alright," George scoffs, "the hard way it is, then."

Percy spots Audrey in the crowd, chasing a smaller group of little girls, all of them in princess' attire with balloons and crowns floating above them.

"Angelina is a Healer, Perce," and then George gives up, suddenly placing his hand over the one Percy had on the tabletop, "…she knows things."

"And you know more of them," Percy replies, tearing his hand away from his brother's, not bearing the contact. (Nope. No, no. He didn't deserve it, he knows, not after everything he has done.)

George sighs sadly, holding on to his son a little tighter as he feels a knot forming in his throat. "Why don't you say anything, Perce? Come on. Don't...don't give up."

"—Percy! Get over here, sweetheart, it's time to cut the cake!" And from the distance those yards away, Audrey stops in the middle of her chase and waves a hand over to her husband.

He stands up, clearing his throat and not sparing his brother another look as he starts walking. His eyes on the little redhead girl who just turned four and is smiling hugely at him the closer he gets.

_A new day, Molly smiles_

He doesn't know what's wrong with him—well, he does, but in other things he doesn't know what's wrong with him. Why he feels this way, why he feels this blankness, this resignation in his chest. Why he feels like he deserves it, how he is finally paying the price for being that loathsome man that threw all chances of being happy out the window so many years ago. Back when he turned his back on it, was the better way to put it.

So, obviously, with his thoughts going right, left, front, back, side, side with every millisecond that passed, Percy found himself unable to sleep; unable to even lay next to his wife's warm body without feeling tortured and without feeling conflicted and like a failure.

There's a lot that crosses him, a lot of memories, a lot of regrets, a lot of situations that he could've changed, but somehow he ends up in this room filled with stuffed animals, sparkly stars, toys, and lavender walls.

And just as he begins to wonder _why _he is there, blue eyes blink to life; sleep quickly leaving their orbs as the sunlight emerges into the room, and then they find him.

"Good morning, Daddy," she says with a little yawn, blinking her little eyes and smiling hugely at her father sitting by her bedside.

He smiles in return, and he knows that he is there because he can never regret her, his little girl.

_Daddy's little girl ties a ribbon around my heart_

_Daddy's little child waves goodbye to the ocean tide that sweeps me_

_Though we're apart, she's a part of me_

She's six when it happens.

She was coming home from playing with Victoire and Teddy in Shell Cottage, her Uncle Bill walking behind her slowly, a little gleam of something in his eyes as he walks with her down the hall of her home; indirectly leading her towards her parents room with his silence.

She doesn't think much about it, because, well, how can she? She's too young, she doesn't understand her Uncle Bill's teary eyes or her Aunt Fleur's sobs before she left. All she really knows is that when she enters her parents room that her grandparents are there; that her Aunt Angelina is holding her mother in a corner, holding her tightly as she cries; and then that her Uncle George appears out of nowhere and is hugging her, holding her tight.

She peeks through a little gap she gets from George's embrace and she sees her father, that man she adores, that man she loves, the most important person in her life, laying on his bed looking completely frozen, pale white, and blue eyes alike hers as they stare at her; not moving, not blinking, not shining.

There's something invading her little body, something she can't quite identify, but all she knows in that moment of utter confusion, of worry for her mother's loud cries, is that she's hurting, that's she sad, that she's broken because she was expecting a smile from her father.

One that she always gave to him; one that she never got back.

_When I come home, Molly smiles with the dawn_

_Molly smiles and she radiates the glow around her halo_

_When she plays, Molly smiles_

_On a summer day, Molly smiles_

_A new day, Molly smiles_

It was a day before she had to leave, a day before she departed, a day after she turned eleven and she received her letter of entrance to Hogwarts when she has that calming dream.

She had been feeling nervous all day, all night before heading to bed; her thoughts flying back and forth on how it was going to be. What finally going to Hogwarts was going to bring her, what she would learn, if Teddy would show her around when she got there, if her and Victoire would be sorted in the same house, and wherever she did land, would her family be proud?

A sad tingle had appeared in her heart, making her close her eyes before tears rushed out and she thought about the one person she wanted to desperately ask about their experiences at the school. A person that was never going to give her an answer, a person that never got a chance to tell her about his tales at the majestic school.

She was sure she was sleeping because she was seating on her favorite armchair in the living room, reading a book that her Aunt Hermione had given her when the door of the house opens, a tall, redheaded man with horn-rimmed glasses walks in; muttering about the load at work, about the wizard he almost fired, and how the Minister had congratulated him on another great presentation.

He continued talking, going on and on about his day as she stared at him—no dollies, no toys, no wobbling legs, no ugly ponytails, no missing teeth present as she gave him as much attention as she could give him.

He wasn't irritated, he wasn't annoyed, he was himself—her father, happy and smiling as he chatted away with her; _so alive_.

But knowing a little better than to read much into it, she continues to listen to the man. Smiling at her father like time had not past by and life hadn't taken him away from her.

_When the days have gone grey, _

_Nothing's wrong when Molly smiles_

Time came and went, flew past and changed like the seasons, and now there she was. Seventeen years-old and holding a medal in her hands as she stared at a picture in that old study room in her home.

"Molly, dinner's ready." And getting distracted from her stare on that picture, she turns around and sees a redheaded girl standing at the door way of the study.

She gives her a nod, not really caring for the comment at the moment as she says, "hey, come here," and she motions the girl to approach her and the wall that she was facing.

Slowly as she walks over, the redheaded girl feels a little off as she suddenly gets this sense like she's intruding into something that doesn't really belong to her; something that wasn't necessarily hers but more to that seventeen year-old. "…Let's just go eat, yeah?"

She shakes her head, putting an arm around the redhead's shoulder and pointing a finger towards the portrait she was looking at. "He was such a wonderful man," she beings so casually, like the subject had already been in the air, "so incredibly hard working, organized, firm, polite, presentable, a little secluded, a little protected, serious, intelligent, responsible, honorable man, and an _incredible _father." She turns away for a second, looking at the redhead's brown eyes with her blue; a blue that matched the ones in the painting. "You would've loved him, Lucy. He was brilliant."

"...I do love him," Lucy whispers a little sadly, looking at the man that she has gone eleven years without ever meeting; someone she was never going to meet no matter how many more years she waited for it. "He's dad, Molly."

She nods, a little puff of a giggle passing through her lips. "He sure is," she tells her little sister as she nudges her with her elbow. "And believe me, Luce, he loves you too. I know it."

Lucy looks away from the picture, her brown eyes glittering as they stare at her older sister. "You think so?" She asks a little softly."But he never met me, Molls."

"Says you," she nudges her again, laughing once more. "Now, go tell Mum I'll be there soon, okay?"

Eleven year-old Lucy nods her head, walking towards the door of the study and leaving her sister behind with Percy Weasley's still eyes looking at her from an unmoving state.

A lot really has changed, everyone knows that, but one thing that surely hadn't was the great memory she had, the undying love she had towards her father even as _he _died away. And every time she stepped into his old study, looked up to his photograph hanging on the wall, she reestablishes that no matter the years that pass her by, that attempt to push his memory away, that she's always, always going to adore him.

"I love you, daddy," she whispers to the photograph, lowering a golden badge onto his old desk—a badge that read: _Head Girl _glittering as a burst of sunlight entered the room. Everything suddenly glowing and warming the air.

She laughs, shaking her head as she could swear that he's in the room at the very moment and that she hears a whistle of a murmur say, '_I love you, Molly_,' as she heads out with a grand smile on her face.

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><p><strong> AN: Sigh. I think I'm having daddy-issues, guys. Seriously. Second oneshot revolving around fathers and daughters. <strong>

**But anyway, moving away from my problems, lol, I hope you like it. As...tragic as it is?**

**Hmm.**


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